Running away
Who: Amerie, T'rev, W'ton
Where: Commons
When: Afternoon on day 23, month 11, turn 20
What: Hot. Weaver. Chick. And W'ton's oblivious. It's kinda sad. Also T'rev is there. It's awkward.
Catching up on posting. Log stolen as mine's sitting on laptop of death.
Though it's late in the afternoon, people are still busily working away - or busily cleaning up their work - in the commons cavern. There's a group of knitters putting away their yarns, a small number of laundry workers finishing folding, and a few scattered people absorbed in their own solitary pursuits. Amerie is amongst those, her long legs neatly folded up in a comfy chair, her boots abandoned at the foot, neatly. She's balanced her sketchbook on her knees, bent over it with some little industry, pencil scratching, dark hair tucked behind one ear.
There's been little seen or heard of W'ton lately around Fort. Most of what's seen is him and Dasarth disappearing in the morning and showing back up in the evenings. Today he's back early though and has been seen here and there about the Weyr. Here currently is the commons although he looks to be passing through. A couple of small boxes are tucked under one arm and next to him is one of the men who works in stores. His walking partner is talking loudly to the bronzerider as they dodge people both sitting and moving about. "And it's a stupid idea. You know what people'll think if you do this. Come on, man. You don't really want to do this."
Paying precious little attention to dragonriders is difficult in a Weyr, but somehow, Amerie manages it. It's likely because she's most usually closeted away someplace in the crafter's workrooms - sociability is not amongst her talents. Eavesdropping though? Aces. Given W'ton's buddy is being incredibly loud, she - and a few others in the commons - look up. The knitters and laundry-folders immediately set to gossiping; the weaver merely watches the bronzerider with a finely arched brow, dark gaze clearly curious. It's not every day you get a floor show.
Normally W'ton's not going to object to being a floor show, but lately with the whole break-up he's been happier keeping to himself. "Come on, Len, enough," the bronzerider says as he hikes his box up higher. "I've already sent in the request and I've already got a place there. And it's not like you and the others can't come visit. By the time you can all arrange it I'll have found the best spots. I won't get a chance here like I will somewhere else." Len shakes his bushy red-haired head and snorts. "Like you're going anywhere these days."
That string of statements from the bronzerider sends up a little buzz around the room; the knitters are idling over their cleanup rather obviously. Who wants to leave /now/? For her part, Amerie is fine with just watching for the moment, propping chin in slender hand, elbow on half-finished sketch. Her free hand taps her pencil idly against the chair arm as she slants a look around the commons, then back W'ton and Len's way. In a smooth, rather sardonic tone, "You /are/ aware that you're having your private discussion in front of thirty-odd rabid gossips?" She's totally oblivious of any glares she might get for that after. Mind your business, bitches.
"If it were private then we'd not be having it here," Len says with a wink at Amerie. "Besides I like my women gossipy. They're much more fun. Do you want to gossip with me?" W'ton rolls his eyes and barely gives Amerie a look. He does tell his friend, "You're getting nowhere. And you're supposed to be helping me so flirt on your own time or I'm not giving you that bottle of wine I promised for lugging boxes. Pardon us, miss." The last is to the weaver. "But he's got a point. It's hardly private. My personal life has had them gossiping as long as I've been here. I don't much care."
Flatly, to the redhead, "I'm no fun at all. So no." Amerie's a charmer, isn't she? Such a lovely personality. Still watching both riders with a sort of bemused tolerance, she shifts her attention to W'ton, brow arching again. "So, you don't mind subjecting us all to it? They--" A flick of her hand towards the knitters, "Might think it's the best news they've heard all day, but not all of us are interested in the drama of other's lives. I don't care about your personal life, so..." After an elegant shrug, she adds, with the voice of experience, "Moving is horrific. Don't do it."
"Then don't listen," W'ton says with a smile lacking any charm. Well, maybe a wee bit that's possibly natural and he's unable to get rid of it even if it's wasted. As for Len he just shrugs shoulders again and frees W'ton of his boxes to carry them off. "Come by when you thaw, man. We've all got you something." The redhead ambles off without a look back although he does acquire the arm of a plump laundress who titters loudly and whispers as they go away. Win shakes his head and doesn't bother watching. "Most people," he points out with a nod, "Who don't want to listen to other people talking don't hang out somewhere that it's always going on. But as for moving sometimes we don't have a choice. And I've done it before so it's not so scary."
Archly, "How could I do anything /but/ listen?" And yeah, charm is pretty much wasted on Amerie, sadly. She's curled up in a chair in a rapidly emptying commons, apparently speaking to Win, who's still standing in the middle of the cavern. Glancing after Len's departure - and the few people who rush out in his wake, eager to pass on new information - the weaver looks thoughtful before she turns her regard back to W'ton. After a moment, she must allow, "Listen, perhaps, is the wrong word. Or should be defined - selectively listen is what I like to do, hence my sitting quietly in a room full of people. I'm just not wanting to hear about who's sleeping with who, again." With a wrinkle of her nose, "Unless you were ordered to, there's nothing that can make you move. It's a choice." Again, voice of experience here.
"Oh, well, no talking about sleeping with anyone. I'm not doing that. Unless you count Dasarth. We do share a room after all." W'ton shrugs his shoulders and folds his arms over his chest. "So there's one thing you don't have to listen to I suppose." Shaking his head he watches the gossipers depart without a care on his face. "And it's not that I don't have a choice. It's that I don't want to be here. I've had about enough of Fort and their opinions of me. I'd rather move away and start over. Ah. And how rude. W'ton, bronze Dasarth's. A pleasure to meet you, miss."
Into the commons comes T'rev looking freshly scrubbed and pink-cheeked, eyes scanning the room, mostly likely for a sister. Instead, they find Amerie and W'ton and the Weyrleader's steps hesitate for a moment then his shoulders square and he heads their way. "Amerie, W'ton, good day."
Dryly, "I don't think I would count your dragon, no. That could be mildly disturbing." Could be, but isn't at least? Amerie is a little bemused by W'ton and his willingness to explain his situation, but she's limited that to arched brows, a puzzled expression. "Well. I suppose I can understand wanting to start over," she notes, with some little amusement. "But I think it's rather sad you'd leave over mere opinion. I would have moved many, many times if that bothered me." The introduction has her smirking a touch, but she responds in kind; "Amerie. Journeyman Weaver and tailor. And hello, Weyrleader." Her greeting for T'rev is polite, cordial.
"Weyrleader," W'ton says with polite nod towards the other bronzerider. Then he's looking back at Amerie with a small smile. "A man has to do what's right. And sometimes that means stepping aside. And it's not just opinion. But I won't be boring you with the details. You've no interest in them. And it's always a pleasure to meet a weaver. A shame I won't be here to commission anything from you. I'm always looking for something new and a way to spend more marks than I should."
Amerie perhaps betrays a little sympathy for W'ton, a faint reflection of it in her dark gaze. Carefully, "What's right at the moment will not always be right. But stepping aside - yes. Sometimes it's easier." Not better. Not right, but easier. The whole experience thing again. And, of course, money is /always/ a welcome subject for the weaver. "I can sew as well near as far, so do not yet dismiss the notion of spending marks." With something close to a smile curving full lips, she nods over to T'rev. "Yes, but hardly a surprise - I don't get out much." You don't say.
"Weyr's a big place," T'rev remarks mildly, perhaps providing a polite 'out' for Amerie on that. "Amerie's clothes are definitely worth the price and the travel," he adds with a smile for the weaver. His face is kept carefully pleasant as W'ton goes on. "I hope that you'll be happy, Win," he says sincerely, "and of course, Rho's a good friend. Please pass on my regards when you get settled there. The two of you'll be up to hijinks in no time, I bet."
Lightly, "I suppose, but then you might offend me-- and near or far, that's something to be concerned about." Amerie's amused, at least - which is always safest. She shades back to her more sober self in turns as W'ton's talking to T'rev; something about this conversation doesn't thrill her. Smudging a line of the sketch in her lap with her thumb, she tilts a glance up the Weyrleader's way. "I thank you kindly for your endorsement. Referral is the soul of commerce."
"Huh. To be quite honest, miss Amerie I'm not so concerned about offending a woman these days. Seems no matter what I do they won't be believing me anyway. But I shall keep you in mind." Eyes glance towards T'rev. "Not that big. And I'll pass word on to her. If you two will excuse me I've got some fellows waiting for me. We've got a weyr to empty out. No sense making someone else do it." He bows to Amerie and then T'rev. "A good evening to the both of you."
Where: Commons
When: Afternoon on day 23, month 11, turn 20
What: Hot. Weaver. Chick. And W'ton's oblivious. It's kinda sad. Also T'rev is there. It's awkward.
Catching up on posting. Log stolen as mine's sitting on laptop of death.
Though it's late in the afternoon, people are still busily working away - or busily cleaning up their work - in the commons cavern. There's a group of knitters putting away their yarns, a small number of laundry workers finishing folding, and a few scattered people absorbed in their own solitary pursuits. Amerie is amongst those, her long legs neatly folded up in a comfy chair, her boots abandoned at the foot, neatly. She's balanced her sketchbook on her knees, bent over it with some little industry, pencil scratching, dark hair tucked behind one ear.
There's been little seen or heard of W'ton lately around Fort. Most of what's seen is him and Dasarth disappearing in the morning and showing back up in the evenings. Today he's back early though and has been seen here and there about the Weyr. Here currently is the commons although he looks to be passing through. A couple of small boxes are tucked under one arm and next to him is one of the men who works in stores. His walking partner is talking loudly to the bronzerider as they dodge people both sitting and moving about. "And it's a stupid idea. You know what people'll think if you do this. Come on, man. You don't really want to do this."
Paying precious little attention to dragonriders is difficult in a Weyr, but somehow, Amerie manages it. It's likely because she's most usually closeted away someplace in the crafter's workrooms - sociability is not amongst her talents. Eavesdropping though? Aces. Given W'ton's buddy is being incredibly loud, she - and a few others in the commons - look up. The knitters and laundry-folders immediately set to gossiping; the weaver merely watches the bronzerider with a finely arched brow, dark gaze clearly curious. It's not every day you get a floor show.
Normally W'ton's not going to object to being a floor show, but lately with the whole break-up he's been happier keeping to himself. "Come on, Len, enough," the bronzerider says as he hikes his box up higher. "I've already sent in the request and I've already got a place there. And it's not like you and the others can't come visit. By the time you can all arrange it I'll have found the best spots. I won't get a chance here like I will somewhere else." Len shakes his bushy red-haired head and snorts. "Like you're going anywhere these days."
That string of statements from the bronzerider sends up a little buzz around the room; the knitters are idling over their cleanup rather obviously. Who wants to leave /now/? For her part, Amerie is fine with just watching for the moment, propping chin in slender hand, elbow on half-finished sketch. Her free hand taps her pencil idly against the chair arm as she slants a look around the commons, then back W'ton and Len's way. In a smooth, rather sardonic tone, "You /are/ aware that you're having your private discussion in front of thirty-odd rabid gossips?" She's totally oblivious of any glares she might get for that after. Mind your business, bitches.
"If it were private then we'd not be having it here," Len says with a wink at Amerie. "Besides I like my women gossipy. They're much more fun. Do you want to gossip with me?" W'ton rolls his eyes and barely gives Amerie a look. He does tell his friend, "You're getting nowhere. And you're supposed to be helping me so flirt on your own time or I'm not giving you that bottle of wine I promised for lugging boxes. Pardon us, miss." The last is to the weaver. "But he's got a point. It's hardly private. My personal life has had them gossiping as long as I've been here. I don't much care."
Flatly, to the redhead, "I'm no fun at all. So no." Amerie's a charmer, isn't she? Such a lovely personality. Still watching both riders with a sort of bemused tolerance, she shifts her attention to W'ton, brow arching again. "So, you don't mind subjecting us all to it? They--" A flick of her hand towards the knitters, "Might think it's the best news they've heard all day, but not all of us are interested in the drama of other's lives. I don't care about your personal life, so..." After an elegant shrug, she adds, with the voice of experience, "Moving is horrific. Don't do it."
"Then don't listen," W'ton says with a smile lacking any charm. Well, maybe a wee bit that's possibly natural and he's unable to get rid of it even if it's wasted. As for Len he just shrugs shoulders again and frees W'ton of his boxes to carry them off. "Come by when you thaw, man. We've all got you something." The redhead ambles off without a look back although he does acquire the arm of a plump laundress who titters loudly and whispers as they go away. Win shakes his head and doesn't bother watching. "Most people," he points out with a nod, "Who don't want to listen to other people talking don't hang out somewhere that it's always going on. But as for moving sometimes we don't have a choice. And I've done it before so it's not so scary."
Archly, "How could I do anything /but/ listen?" And yeah, charm is pretty much wasted on Amerie, sadly. She's curled up in a chair in a rapidly emptying commons, apparently speaking to Win, who's still standing in the middle of the cavern. Glancing after Len's departure - and the few people who rush out in his wake, eager to pass on new information - the weaver looks thoughtful before she turns her regard back to W'ton. After a moment, she must allow, "Listen, perhaps, is the wrong word. Or should be defined - selectively listen is what I like to do, hence my sitting quietly in a room full of people. I'm just not wanting to hear about who's sleeping with who, again." With a wrinkle of her nose, "Unless you were ordered to, there's nothing that can make you move. It's a choice." Again, voice of experience here.
"Oh, well, no talking about sleeping with anyone. I'm not doing that. Unless you count Dasarth. We do share a room after all." W'ton shrugs his shoulders and folds his arms over his chest. "So there's one thing you don't have to listen to I suppose." Shaking his head he watches the gossipers depart without a care on his face. "And it's not that I don't have a choice. It's that I don't want to be here. I've had about enough of Fort and their opinions of me. I'd rather move away and start over. Ah. And how rude. W'ton, bronze Dasarth's. A pleasure to meet you, miss."
Into the commons comes T'rev looking freshly scrubbed and pink-cheeked, eyes scanning the room, mostly likely for a sister. Instead, they find Amerie and W'ton and the Weyrleader's steps hesitate for a moment then his shoulders square and he heads their way. "Amerie, W'ton, good day."
Dryly, "I don't think I would count your dragon, no. That could be mildly disturbing." Could be, but isn't at least? Amerie is a little bemused by W'ton and his willingness to explain his situation, but she's limited that to arched brows, a puzzled expression. "Well. I suppose I can understand wanting to start over," she notes, with some little amusement. "But I think it's rather sad you'd leave over mere opinion. I would have moved many, many times if that bothered me." The introduction has her smirking a touch, but she responds in kind; "Amerie. Journeyman Weaver and tailor. And hello, Weyrleader." Her greeting for T'rev is polite, cordial.
"Weyrleader," W'ton says with polite nod towards the other bronzerider. Then he's looking back at Amerie with a small smile. "A man has to do what's right. And sometimes that means stepping aside. And it's not just opinion. But I won't be boring you with the details. You've no interest in them. And it's always a pleasure to meet a weaver. A shame I won't be here to commission anything from you. I'm always looking for something new and a way to spend more marks than I should."
Amerie perhaps betrays a little sympathy for W'ton, a faint reflection of it in her dark gaze. Carefully, "What's right at the moment will not always be right. But stepping aside - yes. Sometimes it's easier." Not better. Not right, but easier. The whole experience thing again. And, of course, money is /always/ a welcome subject for the weaver. "I can sew as well near as far, so do not yet dismiss the notion of spending marks." With something close to a smile curving full lips, she nods over to T'rev. "Yes, but hardly a surprise - I don't get out much." You don't say.
"Weyr's a big place," T'rev remarks mildly, perhaps providing a polite 'out' for Amerie on that. "Amerie's clothes are definitely worth the price and the travel," he adds with a smile for the weaver. His face is kept carefully pleasant as W'ton goes on. "I hope that you'll be happy, Win," he says sincerely, "and of course, Rho's a good friend. Please pass on my regards when you get settled there. The two of you'll be up to hijinks in no time, I bet."
Lightly, "I suppose, but then you might offend me-- and near or far, that's something to be concerned about." Amerie's amused, at least - which is always safest. She shades back to her more sober self in turns as W'ton's talking to T'rev; something about this conversation doesn't thrill her. Smudging a line of the sketch in her lap with her thumb, she tilts a glance up the Weyrleader's way. "I thank you kindly for your endorsement. Referral is the soul of commerce."
"Huh. To be quite honest, miss Amerie I'm not so concerned about offending a woman these days. Seems no matter what I do they won't be believing me anyway. But I shall keep you in mind." Eyes glance towards T'rev. "Not that big. And I'll pass word on to her. If you two will excuse me I've got some fellows waiting for me. We've got a weyr to empty out. No sense making someone else do it." He bows to Amerie and then T'rev. "A good evening to the both of you."